


Quantum Suicide

by VeronicaVale



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Limerence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:41:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28137099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeronicaVale/pseuds/VeronicaVale
Summary: Plot is loosely based on that of the game Quantum Suicide on Steam, but the characters are all original.  My attempt to deal with a recent limerent episode and finally write an original fiction novel.I'll probably be revising chapters even after they're posted.
Relationships: me/LO#7
Kudos: 3





	Quantum Suicide

She wakes up slowly to a dimly lit but still noticeably unfamiliar room.

And then fights back a rising sense of panic as she begins to realize that the room isn’t all that’s unfamiliar - how she got here, who she is even - all a blank.

She is in bed, alone, undressed, lying on her back and covered neatly with a blanket. Nothing hurts. Pushing aside the blanket and examining her body in the dim starlight coming through the windows she finds that she appears unharmed - except of course for her lack of memories.

Starlight - moving quickly to the large window running the length of the wall and looking out, she finds that starlight is all she can see - no trees, no buildings, no ground, no nothing - just starlight and empty space. Is she on a spaceship? Does the fact that this seems jarring to her mean that she hadn’t been before?

The room is comfortable, but spartan - a bed with two end tables, a sofa and coffee table, drawers, cupboards and a mirror built into the wall, a doorway leading to an en suite bathroom. An electronic tablet rests on one of the end tables beside a lamp and small panel. Picking it up and touching the surface she sees the words ‘Welcome, Emma’ displayed. She tries the name on her tongue. It feels neither familiar nor unfamiliar. Is she Emma? She apparently remembers how to read at least.

The panel turns out to control the room’s lighting, and after playing around with it for a few minutes she finds the room bathed in a softly pleasant glow emanating from several lamps and overhead lighting strips. 

She approaches the mirror, wondering if the face she sees reflected in it will spark any memories. She finds she is a brunette with unremarkable features and green eyes, possibly in her thirties. She is quite slim and fit with pale skin and no visible scars or markings save for some minor bruising on her legs. Her hair is long and coiled into a braid. While she hadn’t exactly expected this appearance, neither does it seem as alien and unexpected as her surroundings.

After a few more moments spent examining herself in the mirror she turns to the drawers and cabinets. They open to reveal several neatly folded and identical sets of clothing - a uniform of some sort perhaps, some pajamas and other utilitarian looking casual or sport wear, some rather nondescript toiletries and cosmetics, and a pair of glasses. Slipping these on she finds her vision somewhat improved. It hadn’t previously occurred to her that it had needed improving.

Sorting through the clothing she dresses herself. The process at least feels familiar - nothing awkward or unwieldy to her fingers, and she finds she can name every article of clothing she puts on - bra, panties, dress, jacket, knee socks, shoes. Everything fits well, as if tailored for her body, but she has no more recollection of ever having worn any of it before than she does of anything else.

Now dressed, she turns her attention nervously to the room’s one door, wondering what she’ll find on the other side, but her musings are cut short by the sudden intrusion of a disembodied voice.

“Greetings, crew members. I trust you are all now awake and acclimated to your surroundings. If you are feeling a bit uncertain regarding your situation, have no fear - there will be a general all hands briefing in the Main Conference Room in fifteen minutes. Attendance is mandatory, so don’t be late. You can find directions overlaid on the ship schematic now being displayed on your tablets. Don’t forget to bring these with you to the briefing.”

The voice is feminine and well modulated, but with an undercurrent that she finds somehow menacing.

As she retrieves her tablet, she replays the announcement in her mind, allowing the various implications to sink in. There are other people here who may be in the same situation she is - possibly even the entire crew. With the notable exception of whoever had made the announcement of course. The captain maybe? Whoever it was, she had not detected any real concern or sympathy in their voice.

The door to the corridor slides open at her approach, and she hesitantly steps outside, finding the space beyond wide, brightly lit and deserted. Somehow she had expected to find herself in the middle of a bustle, everyone rushing to make their way to the aforementioned conference room, but instead nothing. Consulting the schematic, she can’t really tell if there are other crew quarters near hers or not, or how many people this ship might be expected to contain. She can only see a red line connecting her room to another via a few twists and turns down a connecting hallway.

Rounding a corner she encounters an older man exiting what are presumably his quarters. He is darker complected than she, with wispy greying hair combed messily over a balding scalp. He nods in her direction but doesn't speak. He is clothed similar to herself - trousers instead of a dress, but in the same grey material and pattern. She gives him a tight smile and nods back, continuing on in the indicted direction.

Presently another door opens and a woman joins them - overweight and brown skinned, of indeterminate age though certainly not young, dressed exactly as she is.

“Do you all know where this meeting is?”

Emma shrugs, gestures at her tablet. “I’m just following the map. It looks like it’s this way.”

“Oh, okay.” And then after a slight pause, “I’m Theresa.”

“Emma.”

Theresa turns her head expectantly towards the man.

“Bojing. Nice to meet you,” he says hurriedly, but in a manner that suggests to her that he would just as soon have said nothing.

“Do you all know why you’re here?” Clearly Theresa is not nearly so taciturn as the recently introduced Bojing.

“No, I don’t remember anything,” says Bojing.

Emma shrugs again, wondering what role, if any, these two might have played aboard this ship. “Me neither.” At least neither one of them appear to have her at a disadvantage.

As they approach the conference room she sees a small group assembled in front - three men and one woman. The woman is slightly taller than she, slender and blonde, probably younger than herself and with a curvier figure. She is speaking to a young man of approximately the same height and build and sporting a shaved head. Her attention fixes on him for a moment. It’s not that she remembers him exactly, not that he necessarily even seems familiar, though maybe he should. She can’t quite describe it really - a feeling maybe. At any rate, he’s the only man she’s seen so far who seems remotely attractive or near her own age.

Of the other two men, one is thin and about the same height as the first, with neatly cropped grey hair and an air of superiority, appearing to be perhaps in his sixties. The other, to whom he is speaking, is taller, bald and somewhat gangly - perhaps in his fifties. They are soon joined by a fourth man - similar in complexion to Bojing, but taller, younger and dark haired. They are all identically dressed in the same white trimmed grey uniforms.

She briefly returns her attention to the first unnamed man still chatting with the blonde woman, wondering if the two of them know each other - if they remember each other or are remembering each other. If they’re attracted to each other. The thought is accompanied by an immediate stab of jealousy. And the sinking suspicion that he would likely consider the blonde woman more attractive than herself.

Fortunately, she is distracted from these thoughts by the arrival of two more women - both older, overweight, and slow moving, one light skinned and one brown skinned, both grey haired. The light skinned one is speaking with considerable animation to the somewhat less enthusiastic seeming dark skinned one in a voice that Emma perceives as being accented. Thinking back, she realizes that she had considered Bojing to also be possessed of some sort of accent, albeit a much different one, but not Theresa or the voice from the announcement. 

Presently a set of doors open and the same voice invites them to enter. Surprised, she moves into the conference room with the rest of the small group, wondering why they’re not waiting for the rest of the crew. There are only the ten of them gathered so far. The ship had seemed so large as she had made her way through it. All this - for only ten people? 

The conference room to which they have been directed is not particularly large and contains only one table - seating for ten. She takes a seat at the end of the table closest to the door. The man Bojing sits beside her. She can’t help but notice that the young man and blonde woman sit beside each other across from her and at the other end of the table. She can’t help but experience a flash of jealous disappointment.

He looks briefly in her direction, as if aware of her attention. She looks away, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

Suddenly the form of a woman materializes at the far end of the table - strikingly attractive in a sleeveless uniform dress identical to her own save for its color - red instead of grey. Conversation quickly comes to a halt as all eyes turn in her direction.

She favors them with a smile Emma can only describe as predatory. 

“Greetings crew. I hope you are all recovering adequately following the incident.” She pauses, and Emma wonders if she’s waiting for a response.

For a moment everyone is silent, but then the older, accented woman pipes up.

“Excuse me, but can you tell us what incident this is? A lot of us don’t seem to be able to recall anything prior to waking up.”

The woman (hologram? projection?) smiles indulgently. “Of course. A few days ago the ship was hit by a wave of unknown radiation. All mechanical and electronic ship’s systems appear unaffected, but unfortunately the same cannot be said of the ship’s organic crew. I have observed that your memories appear to be either destroyed or at least inaccessible. Whether this is a temporary or permanent situation is currently impossible for me to say. As the ship’s AI, I have taken over all duties and responsibilities necessary for the safety of the ship and continuation of the mission. No need to thank me.”

No one thanks her. Everyone in fact sits in what feels like a somewhat uneasy silence.

“I suggest that you take a day to familiarize yourselves with each other and your surroundings. I have taken the liberty of making up a list of tasks you’ll need to perform in order to maintain your existence - hydroponics lab maintenance and food production, food preparation and cleanup, and so on - all of which you’ll see displayed on your tablets and which you may allocate amongst yourselves. We’ll meet back here at this time tomorrow, and we’ll see if any of you have made any progress concerning your memories. Also, there is one little thing I’ll want you to do for me. In the meantime, feel free to enjoy the amenities the ship has to offer.”

With that the AI dematerializes, leaving them once more alone with themselves. For a few moments, awkward silence prevails, the various crew members looking uneasily from person to person, apparently waiting or hoping for someone else to speak first.

Finally, clearing his throat, the grey haired older man addresses them. “Now I know we all have a lot of questions, but the first thing we should do is go around and introduce ourselves so we can at least put names with faces. Then we can see who’s interested in working on some of the items on this list. I’m Willem.”

With that he turns to the man sitting at his left, the older bald man with whom he’d previously been speaking.

“Jason. And I’d be willing to help with some of the hydroponics and food production.”

“Vincent” The dark haired man who’d joined the group after Emma had arrived and who is now sitting to the left of Jason. “And I can help with whatever.” His voice is quiet and accented. He looks across the table to the man sitting opposite him, the one who has so captured Emma’s attention.

“Chris.” His voice is strong and confident, and Emma can feel a little spike of adrenaline at hearing it. Chris. It sounds nice. She likes the name. “I can help with anything.”

“Ruby.” The pretty blonde beside him, and is there a hint of haughty coldness to her voice beneath the seeming friendliness, or is that just her imagination? “I don’t mind doing the cooking.” 

“I’m Corinne.” The older, accented woman. “I can help with the cooking as well.”

“Monica.” The older, dark skinned woman, with somewhat of an air of petulance, as if she’d rather not be here. “I guess I can do whatever.”

“And I’m Theresa.” The woman Emma had first encountered in the hall and who is now seated across from her. “I can do whatever anyone wants me to, but I don’t want to have to clean up people’s messes if they don’t clean up after themselves.” The quarrelsomeness of her statement belies the superficial cheerfulness of her voice.

“Emma. And... it doesn’t matter.” She looks to her left.

“Bojing. And I can do anything too.”

Emma sits in bored silence trying not to look over at Chris as the rest of the ‘crew’ discuss chores and schedules. Occasionally she looks down at the ship schematic, trying to get more of a feel for their surroundings. Zooming out, she can see the entirety of the ship - an asymmetric and irregularly shaped sprawl, with various portions jutting out here and there. The internal layout appears equally haphazard - long, winding corridors, no detectable logic to the placement of anything. Many compartments appear unlabeled, contributing to the confusing, and large spaces are simply blank. She wonders about the seeming lack of economy and aerodynamics inherent in the design. But possibly these issues are unimportant in space? The tablet offers no information regarding a power source or propulsion or armament or defensive capability, but she figures this information would likely be incomprehensible to her anyway.

Also notable is a lack of any information concerning the crew - no dossiers, no logs, not even a roster listing out their rank or position or specialties. Why hadn’t the AI given them more information to help them learn more about themselves and the mission? Surely it must exist somewhere - something that might help jog their memories more than sitting around discussing chores.

At last the meeting winds to a close - with her being assigned laundry duty - certainly not her idea of a good time, but at least something she can do on her own, none of the crew having stood out as anyone she’s eager to spend more time around. Save for Chris of course. Who is hanging back still chatting with Ruby and now Jason and Vincent

Not wanting to look like a jealous and lovesick puppy, and not wanting to immediately return to her quarters either, she decides to leave and do a little exploring on her own. She consults the schematic again. Hydroponics bay and kitchen - too likely to be the destination of people assigned cooking and farming chores, and she finds she’d rather be alone with her thoughts. Recreation lounge, botanical garden - again, too likely to be populated. Bridge and engineering - likely she won’t be able to make heads or tails of the places, so she decides to leave them for later. Laundry and gym both sound boring, though she assumes she will eventually have to at least have a look around the laundry. Perhaps the medical bay and science labs - that sounds sort of interesting. Following the directions indicated on the schematic, she makes her way there.

She’s not exactly sure what a science lab should look like or what she had been expecting this one in particular to look like, but she has a feeling it’s not like this. Much like her quarters, the place appears swept bare - no notes, no mess, nothing lying about as if someone had just been working here a few days ago before being hit with a supposed burst of brain scrambling radiation. And much like the rest of the ship, the overall impression is of space - lots of space. She counts at least six work areas, possibly more. And only ten crew members. Are they all researchers then? Working on the same project in this lab?

She meanders aimlessly around the lab a bit longer, not wanting to touch too much in here - no telling what most of the equipment and instrumentation in here does or what it’s been used for. Not to mention not knowing what any of the buttons or touch panels might do. Frustrated, she turns to leave the way she had come in when a quick movement catches her attention out of the corner of her eye. 

She turns quickly, but sees nothing. She hadn’t heard anyone else come in either. Then again, she might have missed it over the loud humming of some of the equipment.

“Hello?”

No one answers.

She edges nervously around another large piece of equipment, seeking a clear line of sight to the door. The room is empty. She stands silently waiting for another few moments and then walks quickly to the door. Maybe it had just been her imagination.

The wide, empty corridors seem a little more ominous now as she makes her way back to her room. She wonders if it really had been such a good idea to leave the others behind so quickly. Consulting her tablet once more for directions she finds she is near the gymnasium. Maybe a little physical activity might be what she needs to shake her sense of unease. It could at least be worth taking a look. 

Like the science lab, the gymnasium is large and well appointed, stocked with a variety of free weights and equipment, exercise machines of one type or another, and various types of apparatus. Mirrors line the walls and soft lighting filters down from glow strips set into the high ceiling above. After looking around for a bit, her attention is eventually drawn to a tall, narrow pole running the length from floor to ceiling, its purpose not appearing to be structural support. Grasping it, she finds it fits easily in her hand and spins freely around its vertical axis. It occurs to her, almost forcefully, that it might be fun to try and spin around on this pole while holding herself aloft on it.

Grasping the pole firmly with one hand, she kicks off the floor while wrapping her other leg around the pole. The experience is exhilarating - like what she would imagine flying to be like, and she wonders if she should be surprised that the motions and positioning of her body feel natural and instinctual. Has she done this before? Or would this just be obvious to anyone on their first attempt?

She continues experimenting, growing more confident and assured with each new variation she attempts. She hooks her knee high around the pole and begins another spin, realizing that if she positions her legs just so, she can tilt her body and position herself to hang suspended nearly upside down as the pole continues its rotation.

Movement flashes out of the corner of her eye - defined this time - the light grey of their uniforms and on a male figure. She rights herself on the pole, quickly bringing the spin to a halt, suddenly keenly aware that her recent maneuver has caused the skirt of her dress to flip up around her waist exposing her bare thighs and underwear beneath. Straightening her clothing she stands looking in surprise at Chris standing before her.

“How did you know how to do that?”

She’s a moment realizing what he’s referring to, so disconcerted by his unexpected arrival. “I don’t know really. It just felt natural. Like a muscle memory maybe. I noticed it before when I was getting dressed but didn’t give it much thought - that putting on all the clothes and fastening them and everything just felt very natural - like I’ve done it before.”

He seems to consider this for a moment, but then changes the subject. “Where did you go off to after the meeting?”

“The science lab.”

“Why did you go there?” He is looking around the room now, idly inspecting various pieces of equipment.

She follows him, not wanting him to wander away. “I don’t know. It just seemed… I don’t know.” She doesn’t want to admit the truth - that she had partly gone there just to get away from him and having to see him talking to someone else instead of her.

“Maybe you used to work there.”

“Maybe. Honestly, it doesn’t look like anyone works there. The place was neat as a pin - nothing lying around. And of course I didn’t recognize anything.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t go off on your own like that. It could be dangerous.”

She briefly considers telling him about the vague apparition of movement she’d thought she’d seen in the lab, but then quickly dismisses the idea, not wanting to seem foolish. 

“I guess so. But I mean, is anywhere really safe? We don’t know anything about where we are.”

“Except you know how to flip upside down on poles.” He gives her a conspiratorial smile that she finds entirely charming and endearing.

“It’s funny. Even though I don’t remember doing this before, I just felt drawn to that particular apparatus. Maybe on some level I still remember having done it before. Does anything stand out to you like that?” Do I stand out to you like that?

He looks around critically. “Not really. But I figure I must work out, so I thought I’d come have a look.”

“What makes you think you work out?” She looks him up and down assessingly. He does seem quite slender, but that doesn't necessarily imply anything.

“Tree trunk thighs.” He bends over to wrap his hands around a thigh in demonstration, revealing himself to be more heavily muscled than she would have expected. “I figure I must lift weights or something. Also my hands...” 

He extends his hands towards her palms up to reveal extensive peeling calluses along the bases of his fingers. Instinctively she runs her fingertips along her own hands, finding smaller but matching calluses. He grabs one of her hands to examine them for himself, running his thumb over the small, hardened area of flesh. Though his touch seems entirely clinical, the familiarity of it nevertheless pleases her.

“Maybe they’re from swinging around on that pole.” 

“Maybe. I also have some bruises on my legs. I didn’t think of it before, but I guess they could be from hanging by my legs.” She turns her leg and pulls up the edge of her dress to reveal one behind her knee. He reaches down to touch it experimentally.

“You’ll have to show me more moves as you figure them out.”

“Sure.” She smiles inwardly, pleased by the interest and attention.

At that her stomach takes the opportunity of letting out an embarrassing rumble, making her wonder when the last time she had eaten had eaten. Chris laughs and scrunches up his face in mock disgust.

“Corinne, Ruby and a few of the others went to look at the kitchen and hydroponics lab. I think they’re going to try and have a meal ready in a few hours. Maybe we should go check their progress.”

Although she isn’t pleased with the mention of Ruby, she can’t really fault him for it - they all need to eat, and Ruby had volunteered to cook. She shrugs in assent, and after consulting their tablets they make their way to the kitchen, continuing their chat as they walk.

“What do you think of the AI system?”

She considers the question, wondering if the AI is listening to them right now, if it cares what they say or do… and realizes what the implication of that line of questioning is - that she already doesn't trust the AI, and wants to keep as much of her thoughts from it as possible.

“Well, it doesn’t seem very forthcoming.” She tries to somehow telegraph through tone or facial expression the rest of her thoughts, but isn’t sure of her success. She also isn’t sure how adept the AI might be at interpreting such nonverbal cues. If its technology is as advanced as the technology surely required to build this ship…

She decides a change in topic may be in order. “Doesn’t this ship seem way bigger than necessary for just ten people? I was surprised - I thought there’d be more of us.”

“Yeah - that surprised me too. Maybe we’ll find out more tomorrow.”

They walk in silence the rest of the way, and then awkwardly part ways as they enter the kitchen - he to go speak to Ruby and Corinne, she to examine the room’s contents. Everything seems fairly standard - stoves, ovens, sinks, refrigerators, kitchen utensils. And then it hits her - she recognizes this stuff. She knows how to use it. She had known how to do tricks on the pole. But she hadn’t recognized anything in the science lab. Does that mean all she has to do is walk around the entire ship looking for something recognizable to figure out what it is she does here?

But her own quarters hadn’t seemed familiar. But maybe that’s just because she had just woken up. Maybe she just needs to look through them more thoroughly - now that she’s feeling a little more oriented. The place had seemed pretty sparse, but maybe there had been something she had missed - some personal effect that would give her some clue as to who she is. Or at least had been. Now that maybe her memories are starting to return - just a little. 

But after lunch. Because Corinne has just declared the food almost ready, and she realizes that she is rather hungry.

\--

Lunch is served in a spacious dining hall set adjacent to the kitchen, which, while only actually containing seating for ten at one large table, could certainly have accommodated many more people had the space been more economically utilized. The menu consists of a hot stew of some sort, a large bowl of various raw fruits and vegetables, and loaves of a dense bread, all carried from the kitchen on a cart and laid out on a buffet at the side of the room.

She, Chris, Corinne and Ruby serve themselves and sit down to eat as they wait for everyone else to arrive. Jason and Vincent quickly file in from the nearby hydroponics bay, followed by Monica and Theresa, and then Willem.

“Well, this all looks very good,” Willem says pleasantly once they are all seated. “I take it we have Corinne and Ruby to thank for lunch.”

“Yes,” Corinne answers. “There doesn’t seem to be any preprepared food in stock, but there are a lot of ingredients already harvested and ready for use. The computer in the kitchen has instructions and recipes, so we should be able to prepare all the food we need. If we all take turns, it shouldn’t be too much work for anyone.”

“The hydroponics lab seems pretty well stocked as well,” Jason adds in, his tone however somehow making it sound more like a complaint. “There’s a pretty good variety of fruits and vegetables as well as some artificial protein cultures. The computer has a lot of instructions, but we’re still going through them. Hopefully they’ll be enough to let us know what we need to do to keep everything going. I don’t see any means of asking the AI for help or clarification, so hopefully we won’t have to,” he concludes, sounding somewhat irritated and pessimistic. 

“Maybe we should coordinate the food harvest with what meals we’re planning to prepare,” Corinne suggests. “That way we could plan ahead and be more efficient.”

“Maybe,” Jason replies unenthusiastically. “We’ll probably be pretty busy just trying to figure things out for a while though, so maybe that’s something we can work on later.”

“Well, maybe after lunch I can come by and we can read over the instructions together. That way it might go faster.”

“If you want to read through it later, that’s fine. But I’d really rather just have Vincent and I go over it by ourselves for now.”

Corinne lapses into a dejected silence, leading Emma to wonder why Jason has taken such a seeming instant disliking to her. On the other hand, she can’t deny that there is something a bit off-putting about Corinne’s over enthusiastic nature.

Corinne, however, seems undeterred. After only a few moments of eating her food in silence, she pipes back up. “Maybe after we all become proficient at our tasks, we should all teach each other what we do. That way we won’t be at a loss in case anything happens to one of us.”

“Maybe you should just let people enjoy their lunch for a while, and we can talk about all this later,” Willem responds, sounding equally as annoyed and impatient as Jason.

With that the room lapses into an awkward silence broken only by the scraping of utensils and shifting of bodies. Eventually though, Corinne makes another attempt at conversation, turning to Monica and Theresa who are seated beside her. “Were you able to find the Recreation Lounge? Was it interesting?”

“Oh, yes,” Monica answers. “There’s lots there. We actually were in the middle of a game we’re probably going to go back to before we have to cook dinner.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun! Maybe we should all play.” She turns to Ruby on the opposite side of her. “What do you say, should we all go and play a game after lunch?”

“I don’t know. Maybe later. I sort of have a headache. I think I want to just go lie down instead.” She does sound sort of worn out, but Emma still wonders if it’s just an excuse to get out of having to spend the rest of her day still in Corinne’s company.

“Ohh…” Corinne gives her a sympathetic look. “Well, maybe next time. I hope you feel better.” She turns brightly in Emma and Chris’s direction. “Emma, Chris, what about you? Do you want to join in?”

“I really can’t,” Chris replies with what seems to Emma to be feigned disappointment. “I volunteered to clean up after the meal. I was actually going to ask Emma if she wouldn’t mind helping.”

He turns to her, and she nods in agreement, pleased to have both an excuse to get out of hanging out with Corinne and an excuse to spend more time with Chris. “Sure - I don’t mind.” And then, since she and Chris have both already cleared their plates, “Are you going now?”

“Yeah, may as well.”

They both gather up their dishes and rise, prompting most everyone else to do so as well. She and Chris load up the cart with dishes and leftover food and head back to the kitchen. Once there, they put away the food and start the washing up.

“What did you think of Jason and Corinne?” she asks as she rinses a pile of dishes in the sink. “Do you think he hated her before, and even though they don’t remember it, it’s sort of bled through?”

Chris laughs at this. “Yeah, it was pretty obvious he doesn’t like her.”

“Actually it kind of seems like no one likes her. I couldn’t tell, but it seemed like Monica and Theresa weren’t exactly thrilled when she invited herself along with them.”

“Yeah, I’m glad I had an excuse not to go.”

They work in silence for a few moments, Emma handing him dishes, and Chris arranging them into the dishwasher, an appliance they both seem to recognize. Eventually Emma speaks up again. “Did you notice Bojing never showed up?”

“Yeah, I wondered about that.”

“He seems kind of shy. Maybe he just didn’t want to be around everybody.”

“Maybe he’s on the bridge secretly controlling everything.”

Emma frowns in thought. “Somehow I doubt that.”

They finish the dishes and then eventually settle on checking out the Recreation Lounge, having little else to do and hoping that the others will have already left by now.

“Thay have to leave sometime - Monica and Theresa are supposed to be making dinner.”

Chris snorts derisively. “Somehow I get the feeling those two aren’t exactly the hardest workers.”

“Why, do you think you knew that from before?”

He seems to consider but then dismiss this idea. “They just didn’t seem very interested in doing anything in the meeting this morning.”

They check the directions on their tablets and then head to the Rec Lounge, navigating through the ship’s many wide, empty corridors.

The Rec Lounge proves to be as unnecessarily expansive as the rest of the ship - a large, irregularly shaped space with sweeping windows, some of which look out onto other areas of the exterior of the ship, and furnished with smaller seating clusters and gaming areas. Emma estimates that at least fifteen to twenty people could comfortably occupy the room at once. 

Perhaps most surprising of all though, is a large bookshelf containing real paper printed books, an anachronistic extravagance she had hardly expected to find aboard a spaceship. Emma is about to go examine its contents when they are greeted by Monica, already present and engaged in some sort of video game with Theresa and Corinne.

“Hi Chris, hi Emma! Did you come to join us?” Monica asks, laughing at something that has occurred in the game.

“Oh, yes, do come join us!” Corinne adds enthusiastically.

Emma looks over at Chris, hoping to take her cue from him, much preferring that it won’t involve joining in on their game. “Maybe in a little while. I want to look around a little first. Maybe find something to read.”

Gratefully, she follows Chris as he heads over to the bookshelves. Examining their contents, Emma finds the books sitting loose on the shelves, unsecured.

“I guess whatever hit us didn’t interfere with the gravity or knock the ship around. Unless one of us came in and put all the books back and then forgot about it.”

Chris seems to consider this. “True. But there are lots of things just sitting around. And the AI said the ship wasn’t affected - just us.”

They lapse into silence as they both look through the available titles, scanning back covers and dust jackets as they look for something that catches their interest, both eventually choosing volumes to read (or perhaps reread?) and moving off to a pair of armchairs nestled off to the side of the room. Emma would really rather read in the privacy of her room, undisturbed by Monica, Corinne and Theresa’s chatter and the occasional sound effects of their game, but even more than that, she’d like to remain in Chris’s company, even if they are just sitting reading to themselves.

They pass the afternoon quietly, until Chris eventually leaves, saying that he’d like to get in a workout before dinner. Not knowing what else to do, Emma returns to her quarters to make a more thorough inspection of her personal effects.

\--

The next morning Emma stands in front of her mirror neatly dressed and applying the finishing touches to her makeup, another skill with which she had apparently previously been familiar, wanting to look her best for Chris.

Another announcement from the AI had sounded around a half hour ago, rousing her from the slumber she’d fallen into after spending the night lying in bed imagining what it would feel like to have Chris curled there beside her - 

“Greetings crew. I hope you all slept well. Don’t forget our all hands meeting this morning. Attendance is mandatory, so don’t be late. The meeting will start in the Main Conference Room in exactly 45 minutes.”

She hopes something of substance will be revealed during this meeting, their aimless existence aboard the ship already becoming somewhat tedious. Dinner conversation the night before had been largely reminiscent of that at lunch - talk of food and chores, with some added chatter about the Rec Lounge games and unanswerable speculation about their mission and lack of memories added in for good measure. Bojing had finally materialized about half way through, but had said little and had left quietly as soon as he had finished eating. 

She had passed the remainder of the evening helping Chris with the dishes and then trying to concentrate on her novel before going to bed, her thoughts constantly veering off in Chris’s direction in spite of herself.

Now, checking her appearance one last time, she heads to the conference room, finding Chris and Jason already present and engaged in conversation. She seats herself beside Chris, hoping he won’t mind, and listens as Jason continues on uninterrupted with his complaint over how uninformative and unhelpful the ship’s AI system has been thus far. Chris’s rather brief and noncommittal responses don’t seem to discourage him in the least, and he is only silenced by the eventual arrival of Corinne and Monica. The rest of the crew file in shortly after and take their seats as well.

The AI hologram materializes precisely at the designated time, looks up and down the table in an anthropomorphic gesture as if checking to see that they’re all present and accounted for before speaking.

“Greetings crew. It’s good to see you all looking so well this morning, and I’m glad to see you’re all settling into your new roles. However I do have some bad news. After looking over the supply manifest more closely, I’ve determined that there are insufficient supplies to sustain all of your lives for the duration of the mission. That means one of you will need to be eliminated. In order to relieve you of the burden of making this choice, I have devised a game by which the selection will be made. The rules are -”

“Excuse me.” The AI pauses mid-sentence at Corinne’s distraught sounding interruption, a look of irritation crossing its features.

“Yes?”

“Are you saying one of us is going to be killed?” Her voice has risen in pitch and contains a slight tremolo.

“Yes - please try to pay attention.”

“But you can’t do that! The hydroponics lab produces plenty of food.” 

“I think I would know better than you the requirements for keeping this ship’s crew alive. Now, please try and contain yourself while I explain the rules of the game.”

Corinne looks as if she’s about to say something else, but then apparently thinks better of it and sinks into the same stunned silence that seems to have enveloped the rest of the crew.

“I will assign each of you a unique number between one and ten. Only you will know your number. The goal of the game is to combine your number with numbers belonging to other crew members in order to make a total of exactly ten. Individuals and groups with a total of ten are safe, all other crew members are eligible for elimination. You will have one week to make these arrangements amongst yourselves. At the end of the game, players will make their final decision regarding number combinations. You may also trade numbers if you wish. Of the players who haven’t made ten, the player with the lowest individual number will be eliminated. Any questions? Good. You will all now return to your quarters where I will visit you each individually to reveal your number. No one will be permitted to leave their quarters until number assignments are complete.”

For a few moments no one moves, everyone seemingly experiencing the same immobilizing shock and confusion that has rooted Emma to her seat. Then - 

“I mean now. Return to your quarters at once.”

Another few seconds of stunned silence are quickly followed by the scrape of chairs and shuffling of feet and bodies as everyone wordlessly exits into the corridor and disperses.

Emma returns to her quarters as if in a daze, her mind reeling as it attempts to process this new development - that she could be dead - by the end of the week - that she or Chris could be dead. She had known the situation had likely been more complex than originally stated by the AI - the missing memories, the seemingly deserted ship, the lack of information, but this is something for which she had been completely unprepared.

She is unsure how long she waits in her quarters, her thoughts turning over and over uselessly as she sits curled at the edge of the bed staring unseeing out the window. Apparently she does not perform well in a crisis. She tries to run through various scenarios of number combinations in her mind, but her thoughts just end up circling around and around the inevitable truth - one through ten do not add up to a number evenly divisible by ten, therefore someone will automatically be left out. And it’s mostly pointless anyway to try and strategize without knowing her own number. All there is to do is wait. Wait to get her number and then… what? Wait to randomly encounter people and talk to them then? Look for Chris? Do nothing? She has no idea.

After what could be minutes or hours she is startled suddenly out of her reverie by a dark movement seen flashing out of the corner of her eye. She gasps and whirls quickly around, standing to place the bed defensively between herself and this new intruder.

The man standing casually across the room from her is pale skinned and dark haired, dressed in fitted black trousers and an untucked black dress shirt unbuttoned at the throat and with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

“Who are you?” she asks tensely. She hadn’t even heard the door open.

“I’m the AI of course.” It smiles disarmingly, or rather, in a seeming attempt to appear disarming.

“But I thought…” She trails off at the ridiculousness of her own thought - that you were a woman? That you had blonde hair and a red dress? If this is even the AI at all.

“I don’t have a physical body in the sense that you and your fellow human crewmates do,” it explains smoothly. “And, yes, I am the AI.” With that, it vanishes from view only to reappear seconds later in a new location across the room, making her wonder if it really can read her thoughts or if it had simply anticipated that she might have her doubts and had wanted to dispel them instantly. 

“Obviously, I can appear any way I choose.” It spreads its arms as if to more properly show off its new body.

Momentarily speechless at this development, Emma tries to collect her thoughts. “Why this?” she asks lamely, gesturing at its appearance.

“Why not? I thought I’d pick something more suited to your tastes.”

“What do you know about my tastes?” she asks uneasily. Although she can’t deny that she finds this altered appearance very appealing. In fact, she can’t think of anything she’d like changed.

“Certainly a lot more than you do for the time being.” 

When she doesn not respond, not really knowing what to say to this, it continues on. “I’ve come to give you your number.”

She waits silently, her heart pounding in fearful anticipation. “Your number is three.”

A flush of panic floods through her and prickles over her body as its words sink in and she considers their meaning. If she doesn’t find someone or someones to combine with, she’s almost bound to lose with such a low number.

“Don’t look so distressed. I’ve made it easy for you.”

“Easy? Wouldn’t easy have been a ten?” The words feel almost as if they’re being spoken by someone else, her voice thin and far away.

“I suppose, but I didn’t want to make it too obvious.” The AI’s voice, by contrast, is smoothly reasonable and reassuring.

“Make what obvious?” Fear and the blood rushing in her ears is making it hard for her to think straight, but she can’t help but feel that even under the best of circumstances the AI’s meaning would be a bit obscure.

“That I’m trying to help you.” The AI has begun pacing around, as if in frustration at her lack of ability to grasp its simple meaning. She turns to follow it with her eyes.

“How are you trying to help me?”

“I told you. I’ve given you an easy number. Trust me.” She feels inclined to do anything but.

“Why would you want to help me?”

“I like you.” It shrugs as if this should explain everything, flashing that same ingratiating smile.

She warily contemplates this for a moment. Three - easy? Does that mean that Chris, the only other person she’s formed any sort of a relationship with, has a seven, and that all she has to do is ask him? Dare she hope it’s that simple? Or is this some horrible mind game? “Are you just saying this to everyone?”

The AI merely smiles broadly in response. “You might want to keep this to yourself. In fact, I’d highly recommend you not say anything about me to anyone at all. Including your little boyfriend.”

She feels a spike of embarrassment at what must be a reference to Chris. Has she been that obvious? Or is this a reference to something from their past, something she would be aware of were she still in possession of her memories? Maybe they had been a couple - and that’s why she finds him so familiar and appealing? She looks speculatively at the AI, wondering if she ought to ask.

The AI gives her a conspiratorial smile as if reading her thoughts. She wonders again if it can do that. Or maybe it’s just interpreting her facial expressions. Maybe she and this AI are actually well acquainted, and it knows her well and can read her easily.

“Well, I’ll leave you now,” it says before she can voice any of her questions. “But I’ll be monitoring your progress. And you can always call me if you need to chat.” With that the AI dematerialises, leaving her wondering how exactly she is meant to summon it. By simply calling for it? Would that be confirmation of her suspicion that they’re all being constantly surveilled? She sits back down on her bed to ponder these things while waiting for the signal that they’re all free to leave their quarters.

\--

The all clear had sounded a while ago - the original feminine AI voice, but Emma has yet to stir from her room, still unsure how to proceed. She currently lies curled on the bed imagining the different ways a conversation with Chris could play out. Should she seek him out? Wait until they happen to run into each other? Should she bring up the game? Or wait until he does? And what if he doesn’t have the seven? Should she suggest that they still pair up and look for the third person who will bring their total to ten? She goes over in her mind all the possible combinations that would work - three, six, one; three, five, two… What if he refuses? What if he agrees while seeming insincere and disinterested? Should she trust him, or just try and find someone else instead? The whole situation fills her with a nervous anxiety making her feel jittery and on edge.

Suddenly a chiming sound startles her from her thoughts, followed after a few moments by a knocking at her door. 

“Hello?” She calls loudly as she moves towards the door, unsure how well sounds transmit into the corridor beyond.

The door opens at her approach to reveal Chris standing casually outside, much to her surprise, but also obviously to her pleasure. She stares wordlessly at him for a moment before finding her voice.

“What are you doing here?” she asks uncertainly.

“I was just curious to see where you live.” He smiles cheerfully as he peers around her to see into her quarters.

“Oh.” She stands slightly aside. “Do you want to come in?”

He accepts her invitation without comment, entering her quarters and looking around. She watches him wordlessly for a few moments, then,

“Are your quarters just like mine?”

“Pretty much. Pretty standard.” He picks up and examines some of the makeup and brushes she’d used just this morning - eons ago it feels like. “Not any of this stuff though.” He mimes applying makeup to his face with one of the brushes. She has a feeling that had it been anyone else, she’d have been incensed at the presumptuousness.

“You want a makeover?” she asks. He smiles goofily and sets the brush back where he’d found it.

“Are you here about the game?” she asks, summoning up her courage.

“I was actually.” If he is nervous about this conversation, it doesn’t show, at least not to her untrained eye.

“How did you know where I was?”

“I just looked it up.”

“Where?”

“On my tablet. Using the crew locator. Here…” he offers, at what must be her look of confusion, gesturing for her to look at his tablet as he demonstrates its functionality. “There’s also a messaging system.”

“Oh.” Somehow she’d overlooked an entire menu section when she’d been looking through her own tablet, having been more focused on exploring the ship than finding ways to interact with her shipmates. That had apparently been a mistake. Though it is nice standing close to Chris now, their fingers occasionally brushing as he points out the various features to her.

“Anyway, that’s it,” he says with a shrug, withdrawing his tablet and moving away again to look around the room.

She picks up her own tablet, finding the analogous menu and scrolling through it, verifying that everything looks the same, but then quickly sets it aside again to watch Chris instead, following his movements around her quarters with her eyes.

“So, are you going to tell me your number?” His manner suggests that he fully expects that she will. She wonders if this is a false bravado, or if he’s already got her figured out.

“Three,” she answers compulsively. She has a feeling she isn’t very adept at dissembling, or negotiating, or obtaining the upper hand in any interaction.

“Really?” He seems immediately pleased. “Mine’s seven.”

Emma is immediately pleased as well, a sense of relief rushing through her. “Then we can combine and have ten.” It really is just as easy as the AI had said. Unless… “You’re not lying to me are you?”

“Why would I? I need ten just as much as you do.”

“That’s true.” Although she could imagine scenarios in which one might be motivated to lie - to lure someone into a false sense of security. Still, that would almost mean that both Chris and the AI were conspiring against her, and if that were true, she may as well give up now. She decides to dismiss this entire line of thought for now, instead switching tacks.

“Do you know anyone else’s numbers?”

“I went to the hydroponics bay before coming here. Jason and Vincent were there. They have a four and a five.” She feels a quick spike of irritation that she hadn’t been his first consideration for an alliance, but quickly tries to suppress it. “Everyone else was still in their quarters.” Followed by a flush of relieved happiness that he had chosen to visit her in her quarters instead of anyone else.

“I guess it’s lucky for me neither one of them would have worked out for you. I hope they find their one though - since they are the ones mostly working on food production.”

“I was actually asking them about that. I’ll probably help out there too. They don’t seem to think there’s a food shortage either though.” But they hadn’t said anything about it in front of the AI, she noted.

“Maybe it’s not food though.”

“Maybe. Or maybe the AI is just killing someone for no reason.”

She doesn’t respond immediately, not entirely sure if he’s being serious or making a morbid joke, not trusting herself to say anything about the AI one way or another. It hadn’t seemed arbitrarily murderous when it had visited her. She’d forgotten to ask about that though. Actually, she’s pretty sure she would've been too afraid to anyway.

They stand awkwardly for a few moments, until Chris suggests they go to the kitchen to look for something to eat. Realizing that she actually is hungry, and that it must be near lunchtime by now, not to mention that she wouldn’t likely turn down an invitation from him to go anywhere, Emma agrees. 

Before leaving they consult Chris’s tablet to see who else is already there: Corinne, Theresa and Willem.

“Should we tell any of them our numbers?”

“I already told Jason and Vincent Do whatever you want I guess.” She is momentarily annoyed by the dismissiveness of his tone, but tries to put this out of her mind as well.

With that, they exit her quarters and make their way to the kitchen in relative silence. When they arrive, they find that Willem has already left. Corinne and Theresa are chopping vegetables and seem to be in the middle of a low level argument.

“I just think we should all get together and tell each other our numbers. Then we can decide as a group what to do.” This from Corinne.

“Maybe some people don’t want to share their numbers. I think everyone should just do what they want to do.”

“Ah, Emma, Chris, what do you think? Should we all share our numbers together?”

Emma looks to Chris to see his reaction to Corinne’s question. He shrugs diplomatically. “If it’s what everyone else wants.”

“What about you?” Corinne turns directly to face her.

“Well…” Emma gathers her thoughts as best she can having been put on the spot with no time to prepare. She thinks back to her earlier calculations. “One through ten adds up to 55, so there’s no chance we can all have ten. So unless someone’s going to volunteer to be killed, I don’t see the point of getting together. People will just go off to pair up on their own anyway.”

“Well someone might volunteer,” Corinne snips quietly before subsiding into a tension filled silence.

Emma looks towards Chris again for guidance.

“Is there anything we can do to help with the food?” He doesn’t sound exactly insincere, but she suspects he is only volunteering to be polite and to try and change the subject.

Corinne ignores him.

Theresa gestures towards a large pile of potatoes. “You can chop those up. We’re making mashed potatoes.” Her pleasant tone of voice contrasts sharply with Corinne’s present ill humor.

She and Chris select knives from a large knife block and start chopping. She immediately forms the impression that this is not something she has often done in the past, the motions feeling awkward and inefficient to her. Chris seems equally inexperienced with his knife, and she wonders at the lack of automated food preparation equipment on such a seemingly advanced spacecraft. Even if they had their memories, it seems they’d have little time for mission related activities outside of food production and preparation. Yet another mystery. She looks over at Chris, wondering if he’s having similar thoughts, too reluctant to voice them in front of the others.

After finishing with the potatoes, Chris excuses himself to go check on Jason and Vincent in the hydroponics lab. Not wanting to appear as if she spends all her time following Chris around everywhere, and not having been invited anyway, Emma reluctantly remains behind making awkward small talk with Corinne and Theresa as they all continue with the food prep. Eventually they are joined by Ruby.

“Hello, my dear.” Corinne seems to have regained her previously cheerful demeanor. “How are you feeling today?”

“Well, my headache was gone until we heard about this game,” Ruby says with a put upon air, as if the AI had been deliberately attempting to inconvenience her. 

“I know,” Corinne says in commiseration. “I was recommending to everyone that we all share our numbers so we can figure out who to combine with, but some people don’t like this idea.” Emma wonders whether Corinne has forgotten that Theresa had disagreed with her idea and is very much still in the room with them, whether she doesn’t care, or whether she is attempting to be deliberately passive aggressively confrontational. She looks covertly over to see Theresa’s response. Theresa merely shakes her head as if in annoyance or disbelief.

“Well, I have the eight,” Ruby volunteers, sounding a lot less happy about it than Emma thinks she would have felt.

“I have the two! That means we can combine.”

“Sure.” Ruby brightens immediately, sounding relieved. “Sounds good to me.” 

Corinne and Ruby move on to discussing the cooking amongst themselves, and Emma wonders whether this will be the end of Corinne trying to ferret out everyone else’s numbers.

Having nothing pressing left to do in the kitchen, Emma surreptitiously glances at her tablet to check Chris’s location, telling herself it’s only because she’d like to find him and see if he’s learned anything new about anyone else’s numbers, knowing it for the lie it is. Seeing that he’s still in the hydroponics bay with Jason and Vincent, she excuses herself and wanders out of the kitchen, trying to think of something to do with herself while waiting for the food to cook. She eventually settles on visiting the gym, which she has noted is fortunately deserted. She figures she can spend her time playing around on the spinning pole apparatus while waiting for lunch. And if Chris should happen to join her…

She heads to her quarters to change and then is off to the gym. Grasping the pole, she twirls around, practicing and trying to perfect some of the moves she’d previously worked out, trying new variations and combinations. But she can’t deny that in the back of her mind, she’s constantly waiting to hear Chris’s voice, hoping to see him walk through the doors. And then, finally,

“Hey.” A little spike of adrenaline shoots through her at the reality of his presence despite all the time she’d spent imagining it happening. “I think you’re getting better at that - smoother.”

She brings herself to a stop in front of him as gracefully as she can through her nervousness. “Thanks.”

“Lunch is finally ready.” He says this casually, but she is inwardly pleased. He hadn’t really needed to come all the way over here to tell her that. She wonders if perhaps he’d hoped to catch her wearing something more revealing than her uniform dress. She hopes this is the case.

But all she says is, “Oh good - I’m starving,” as she bends to retrieve her clothing, wondering if he’s watching as she pulls her dress on over the brief exercise attire she’d donned and bends to slip her feet into her shoes. Wondering if he finds her attractive.

“Did you find out anyone else’s numbers,” she asks once she’s once again fully dressed.

“Only that Willem has the one and that he’s teaming up with Jason and Vincent”

“That’s good I guess. Ruby has the eight and Corinne has the two, so they’re pairing up. That seemed to put Corinne in a much better mood. I wonder if she’ll shut up about everyone revealing their numbers now. Theresa never said what hers is. I wonder if that means she has the ten.”

“Maybe. Or maybe she has the six and is too dumb to realize that means she’s going to lose.”

They walk the rest of the way to the Dining Hall in silence, not passing anyone else in the corridor. When they arrive they find everyone save Bojing already gathered and either seated or serving themselves at the buffet. She and Chris join the others in line, seating themselves when they have finished.

Emma eats silently as the half listens to the muted conversations around her - the usual talk of chores and food, everyone mutually avoiding talk of the game and looming execution. She notices that most of the crew have tended to group with their number pairings - Jason, Vincent and Willem; Corinne and Ruby; Chris and herself - with the notable exceptions of Monica, Theresa and Bojing, one of whom must have the ten, and the other two of whom can’t possibly have the correct numbers to form ten, if what she’s learned about other people’s numbers is accurate. Bojing, having finally arrived last, keeps to himself and says little. Emma can’t tell if there is any significant change in Monica and Theresa’s interactions. 

She wonders if whoever has the six realizes how screwed they are. In a way, she hopes they don’t. She thinks it unlikely that Chris would change his mind and instead pair with Corinne and Willem to make ten, but if whoever has the six pairs with Jason or Vincent’s four, then Willem will once again be looking for a partner. He could pair with the nine though, and then she’d still be safe. She wishes it could just be the end of the week so this could all be settled and over with. She wonders if anyone else feels the same way.

\--

The rest of the week passes slowly and without much incident - no more proclamations from the AI, no breakthroughs on recovering any lost memories, no further cosmic incidents, or at least none that they’re made aware of. The days, for the most part, become a repetitive blur of cooking, cleaning up, playing around in the gymnasium, reading books, hanging around Chris… fantasizing about Chris.

On their third day aboard the ship (or at least the third day they’re currently aware of), she and Chris take some time to explore a few other areas of the ship - engineering, the medical bay, a few other lab spaces - to no real avail. The medical bay does turn out to contain, along with exam spaces and beds for a seemingly much larger crew, a few recognizable first aid supplies, but the rest of the equipment and instrumentation seems unfamiliar to both of them.

“I guess we aren’t doctors,” Chris says, turning a small instrument of unknown function over in his hand.

“Or if we are I guess we didn’t use whatever that is often enough for it to make any kind of impression,” she replies, hoping whatever it is isn’t too contaminated with anything dangerous.

He sets it down again, and they wander out without further comment.

\--

By the fourth day, they have stopped having official meal time gatherings, everyone seemingly having decided by some unspoken mutual agreement to eat alone or whenever convenient or in small groups of people with whom they are actually friendly.

It is the middle of the afternoon before Emma finally decides to stop by for something to eat, heading to the kitchn to forage for leftovers. As she’s looking through one of the large refrigerators, she can just hear the sounds of voices coming from the dining hall beyond - Monica and Theresa, and it sounds like they might be having some sort of argument.

Curious, she quietly sets her dishes down on a nearby counter, and sidles over to the open passageway to listen. 

“I don’t know why you won’t just tell me your number.” This from Monica, sounding very put out. “I’ll tell you mine.”

“I just want to let it be what it’ll be. I’m just trying to stay in my own lane, and everyone else can stay in theirs.”

“But I’m just asking what it is. I’m not asking you to do anything.”

“I just want to keep myself to myself and worry about myself.”

Having heard all she cares to, Emma slinks back towards the main area of the kitchen before she can be caught eavesdropping. 

Later, she recounts the exchange to Chris as they’re cleaning up a pile of dirty pots and pans. “Do you think that means Monica has the six? If she had the ten, why would she care so much?”

“Who knows.” Chris hands her a pot to dry. “If she really cared though, she’d be asking other people. I can guarantee her Theresa has nothing that can help her.”

“Maybe Willem and I should pair up with her.”

“If that’s what you want.” He doesn’t sound at all concerned though. Emma guesses he honestly shouldn’t though - the way she hangs around him all the time. She wonders if she should resolve to stop doing that so much.

\--

On the fifth day, she finally decides a visit to the bridge is in order, a bit surprised that it’s taken this long. Not that she anticipates it proving fruitful, and maybe she had been afraid that it would somehow annoy the AI. She would have suggested that she and Chris go together, but he has just spent the better part of the last half hour engaged in conversation with Ruby whilst ignoring her completely, and, feeling hurt and angry and rejected, she decides to just go by herself, hoping that maybe it’ll distract her from feeling so miserable.

Approaching what turns out to be a set of large and significant looking double doors set at the end of a short, wider section of corridor, she wonders if they’ll even open for her. The AI hadn’t declared any areas off limits, but if there are any such areas, surely this would be it.

But the doors open with a soft hiss at her approach, just like all the others, and she finds herself standing at the threshold of a spacious and vaguely circularly shaped room, its dimensions bathed in starlight pouring in from expansive floor to ceiling windows that take up most of the wall space. Display consoles and dimly glowing panels inset into the ceiling provide additional illumination. One chair, presumably the captain’s, sits prominently in the middle of the floor, control panels and small display screens inset into the arm rests. Other workstations line the perimeter of the room. Emma walks slowly around, careful to avoid even the appearance of trying to touch any of the controls.

“Feel free to look around, but none of the consoles will respond to your commands.” The voice startles her out of her thoughts, and she turns quickly to find the AI’s male alter ego form ‘leaning’ casually against a bulkhead watching her.

She experiences an immediate flush of panic, as if she’s been caught doing something forbidden, and forcefully suppresses her initial impulse to run and hide as she stares nervously back at it. Where could she realistically go to get away from it anyway? And this is only a holographic projection. It’s no more here than it is anywhere else on the ship. It could just follow her and reappear anywhere.

Slowly tearing her eyes from the AI, she forces herself to follow its suggestion and examine the nearest console, never really allowing herself to completely lose sight of it out of the corner of her eye. As suspected, the readouts tell her absolutely nothing intelligible. She doesn’t even have any idea what ship function this station is meant to monitor or control. She suspects she will find the other consoles equally unenlightening.

The AI moves to stand beside her, a mimicry complete with the sound of footfalls and the rustle of clothing. “This console is configured to monitor the ship’s life support functions,” it says in an abstracted manner as it gives the appearance of examining the readings, as if this visual inspection is necessary to determine the console’s function, as if the AI is going out of its way to make every effort to give the impression of being a fellow human. When of course it isn’t.

Nevertheless, she finds herself taking a few involuntary steps away from it. It regards her with a clinical sort of detachment as she does so. “You may ask.”

“Ask what?”

“The obvious question. That you want to ask but are afraid to.” 

She quickly racks her brain to figure out what the obvious question is, as if there could be a wrong or right answer. All she had been thinking of in that moment had been wondering why it had pretended to need to look at the console to figure out its purpose when it obviously must have already known. Or why it makes such an effort to pretend to be human when she knows that it isn’t. But those things don’t seem important enough to be the question, and she doesn’t really care that much about the answer. Her thoughts quickly dart in Chris’s direction. But no, that can’t be the question. Given that they’re on a spaceship with no memories and the threat of death hanging over one of them, the question can’t be ‘Does Chris like me or not?’. Or, ‘Did Chris and I have a particular sort of relationship before we lost our memories?’. It’s got to be something more meaningful and important - something that affects them all as a whole.

Finally, she settles on, “Are you really going to kill one of us?”

The AI looks off to the side for a moment before answering, and she can’t tell if it’s disappointed or not, if that had been the supposed question or not. “It’s unavoidable. And beyond my control,” it says, returning its gaze to her, it's voice sounding almost apologetic.

She can’t imagine how it can be that the AI is incapable of stopping itself from killing one of them, unless of course this is a separate entity from the other one, the female one being in control, and this one being a secondary system of some sort. Or perhaps someone had programmed them to do this, and they really do have no control over their actions. She wonders if she should ask about this, or if she’s already used up her one question. I had said they could chat anytime, but maybe not about this. Before she can decide though, it speaks again, and she looks back up in its direction, her gaze having drifted down to the floor as she’d become lost in her thoughts. 

“May I give you a piece of advice?”

“I guess,” she says uncertainly, having no idea what to expect, but hoping for something that might help keep her alive.

“If you stand with your back against the pole and grasp it like this,” he demonstrates with both hands held in front and at shoulder height, “you’ll find you can pull your knees up and flip yourself upside down. You can then grab hold of the pole with either knee, extend the other leg behind you, and support yourself hands free.”

She stares at him in utter confusion at the abrupt change in topic and tone, trying to find some connection to the previous discussion.

The AI shrugs, almost as if in apology. “Try it. Maybe it’ll impress your little boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she says reflexively, but not without a measure of disappointment.

“A fact not to be lamented,” the AI replies with a certain significance, before dissolving from view.

Still feeling shaken and confused, she leaves the bridge, heading for the relative safety and familiarity of her quarters.

\--

On the sixth day, during her free time, she heads to the gymnasium to try and put the AI’s suggestion to practical use. 

She had spent the morning helping Corinne and Ruby with food prep, happy at least not to be in the uncomfortable presence of Monica, whom she has formed the opinion is almost certainly going to lose the game (and her life), and also likely knows it by now, but also unhappy that whenever Chris had come in with harvested food ready to be stored and processed, he’d barely acknowledged her presence. He’d been politely cordial with Corinne and Ruby, but hadn’t said or done anything that might hint at the two of them having any special friendship (if he even considers them friends). Feeling ill, she’d listened as the three of them had chatted amiably while she’d silently continued working, watching them and not watching them.

She’s not sure how she feels now - conflicted she supposes. Hurt and angry and like she’d never like to speak to him again, but also desperate for his attention and sure that if he’d just give her some much sought after reassurance, she’d fall happily right back into his orbit.

Crossing the gymnasium floor and grasping the pole as the AI had indicated, she tentatively tries flipping herself upside down as it had instructed. She’s not feeling particularly motivated or energetic, but figures that eventually they’ll be back in each other’s good graces, and maybe then this new (or relearned) ability will come in handy. Her first few attempts prove a bit awkward and graceless, but eventually she gets the hang of it, enjoying the exhilaration and sense of accomplishment as she spins around and around, suspended upside down by only her legs and with her arms gracefully outstretched behind her.

As the pole’s rotation slows, she gracefully rights herself and lowers herself to the floor, watching herself in the large mirrors as her thoughts inevitably return to Chris - that she wishes he were here, that she wishes he’d be impressed with her, wishes that he’d - 

“Hey!”

She nearly jumps out of her skin from shock as Chris steps from behind a large piece of equipment, smiling smugly all the while. “Gotcha!”

“You scared me half to death. I didn’t hear you come in.” But she knows there’s no real acidity to her voice. She’s too pleased to see him, all the resentment flying quickly out the window now that he’s here and smiling at her.

“Did you just learn that today?”

“I did, yes,” she says, hurriedly trying to collect her scattered thoughts.

“How come you were so pissed earlier?”

“What do you mean?” She tries to think back to whatever he could be referring to. She had been pissed, but they hadn’t seen each other the rest of the day, so she doesn’t know how he could have known that.

“You barely looked at me the whole time I was in the kitchen.”

Oh. She thinks of the things she could say. I hate it that you ignore me when other people are around. I hate it that you seem embarrassed by me. I hate it that I want you and you don’t want me back. She settles on, “I don’t know. I’m shy in groups.”

“You don’t have to be. Just be yourself. You need to be more confident.”

Somehow this fills her with resentment all over again, but again she says nothing. And when he asks her to come help with the dishes she again says yes.

\--

The evening of the seventh night, the night before the official culmination of the game, she lies in bed perhaps incongruously thinking of Chris, as she has every night and every morning since waking up without her memories, and quite possibly it feels, for many nights and mornings before that.

The last few nights she’s been unhappy with him, not feeling that he’s paid her adequate attention, feeling that he’s ignored her in favor of spending needless time with other people (Ruby mostly, she thinks with hateful resentment), and her fantasies concerning him had been full of angry heartbreak, of confrontations and tragic endings.

But tonight is different. They’d eaten lunch together and then spent most of the afternoon reading together in the Rec Lounge. They’d found a book that had interested them both, and they’d sat reading it together and commenting on various passages and plot points. And so now her fantasies are a pleasant haze of tearful confessions and impassioned kisses, spurred by her memories of how warm he’d felt sitting so close beside her, their bare arms occasionally brushing up against each other as she’d leaned in to turn the pages, his face mere inches from hers, his thigh touching hers in a way that she can’t help but feel had not been accidental.

She knows there are more pressing matters she could be thinking of, on this night of all nights, but she finds it so much easier to just lie back and enjoy the fantasy while she can.

\--

The morning of Day Eight - the official end of The Game, and, presumably, of someone’s life as well. Emma makes her way nervously towards the main conference room - the AI having instructed them to meet outside in the corridor in preparation for making their planned combinations official. Even though she is theoretically entirely safe, she can still feel the adrenaline coursing through her veins and making her feel a little shaky.

She had been a while deciding on whether to show up early or right on time, fearful that some sort of last minute rearrangement might occur in her absence, but also not wanting to be the first one there and potentially obliged to engage in unwanted awkward small talk. She had settled on obsessively watching her tablet for the moment at which Chris had departed his quarters, planning to time her arrival to coincide relatively closely with his.

And now, as she approaches the conference room, she can see him emerging from the cross passage ahead of her, joining Jason, Willem, and Vincent already present. She catches his eye as she approaches, and he returns her gaze for a moment as she moves to stand beside him, feeling oddly presumptuous despite their earlier arrangement. One by one the remaining crew straggle in, quiet and subdued, loosely grouping themselves with their intended pairings, only Bojing, Monica and Theresa standing awkwardly on their own. 

When they are gathered, the AI appears in front of the conference room doors.

“Greetings crew. I’m glad to see you all present and looking so well this morning.” She pauses briefly to survey them all with a winning smile. “It is now time for you to finalize your combinatorial selections in the hopes of attaining a total of ten points. Pairs or groups wishing to make a transaction will join me one by one in the conference room to finalize their decision. When all transactions are complete, I will announce the results. You may enter when ready.”

With that she dissolves, and the doors to the conference room open ominously. She looks to Chris for his response, but Jason is already speaking and moving towards the door.

“Well, I suppose we may as well get this over with.” Willem and Vincent trail after him, following him inside. The doors shut closed behind them.

She again looks towards Chris. He moves a few paces closer to stand beside her. “You want to go next?” She nods in response, the mounting tension making her feel nervous and jittery. Fortunately, it’s only a few moments before the doors open again and they are able to trade places with the previous group.

The doors close behind them after they have crossed the threshold, sealing them inside. Presently, the AI shimmers into existence before them. Emma studies it for any hint of its alter ego, any covert signal indicative of the familiarity and sympathy displayed by its male persona, but finds nothing but the now familiar incongruously dismissive congeniality.

“Are you two ready to combine your numbers?” Its voice is exactly the same as when it had addressed the group as a whole.

She shrugs, looking nervously towards Chris for confirmation. “We’re ready.”

“Yes,” she confirms, unsure whether the verbal response is required.

“Very well.” The AI closes its eyes as if in concentration, as if adding three and seven requires some sort of effort. “You have successfully combined your numbers. You may leave.”

The doors once again open, and she and Chris exit the conference room and move off to stand near Jason and the others, Emma feeling relieved to be away from the AI and back in the presence of her human crewmates, even if the AI is only a projection and even if she doesn’t feel any particular closeness to any member of the crew other than Chris. 

Corinne and Ruby file in silently to take their place, leaving just Theresa, Bojing and Monica alone and on their own. Emma studiously avoids looking at them - Monica in particular. Though she could be wrong, and it could be Bojing. Or Chris could have lied to her, and it could be her. She tries to calm herself as she waits anxiously for this portion of the game to conclude.

Presently, Corinne and Ruby exit the conference room, rejoining the group as they all stand around in awkward silence. The doors remain open, but no one else makes a move towards them. Eventually the AI reappears and the doors close. Emma’s heart pounds as she waits to hear the results. She tries to keep her hands still and not fidget.

“Well crew, you’ll be pleased to hear that the results are in,” it begins cheerfully. “Willem, Jason, Vincent, Chris, Emma, Corinne, Ruby and Theresa all have ten points and are all safe. Bojing and Monica, you have failed to acquire ten points and are thus eligible for elimination. Of the two of you, the crew member with the fewest points is… Monica. Monica, in order to ensure the successful continuation of the mission, your life will be terminated.”

Despite her relative lack of any personal relationship with Monica, or of having spent much of any time around her, Emma finds that she feels slightly ill in her stomach and light headed at this proclamation. Without looking up far enough to actually see anyone else’s face, she covertly scans the corridor for the other AI, or the other AI persona - the one that had seemed somewhat sorry about someone having to die, despite the fact that it had also claimed it to be inevitable or unavoidable. But maybe it could still change its mind. 

Nothing though. And she’s too uncomfortable to try and look to see anyone else’s reaction to all of this - least of all Monica’s. 

The AI, meanwhile, drones on in its unsympathetic monologue. 

“Monica, you will now make your way to the main starboard airlock as indicated on your tablet. Any interference from the rest of the crew will result in punishment for everyone.”

Emma remains rooted to the spot and staring at the floor. Apparently Monica fails to move as well.

“Monica, you must report to the main starboard airlock.” The AI’s voice is harsh and insistent. “Your death will be painless, as I will flood the airlock with anesthetic gas before depressurizing the compartment, and you will die knowing you have served your crew and contributed to the success of the mission. If you do not go willingly, I will find another way to kill you, and it will likely not be as painless.”

Emma stands tensely wishing she would just go, just to get this over with, not so much because she fears the punishment, though maybe on second thought she should, but just to have all this behind them - just to not have to think about it anymore, to begin to put some distance between herself and this whole experience.

“Well, I guess I…” Monica’s voice trails off amidst a shuffling of feet, and Emma eventually hears footfalls slowly getting farther and farther away. 

She’s not sure how much longer she stands there, not sure whether she’s supposed to wait to be dismissed, or return to her quarters to await further instructions, or just go about her day as usual, as if nothing had happened. She doesn’t hear anyone else moving either though.

And then, just as she is starting to hear the rustling of fabric and shuffling of feet that would indicate people starting to disperse - 

“Crew, thank-you all for participating in this round of eliminations. We will meet back here at the same time tomorrow morning, when I will present the rules for next week’s game.”


End file.
